


Birthright (working title)

by ResaPeesa



Category: Day6 (Band), GOT7, K-pop, K.A.R.D (Band), Multi-Fandom, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Family, Family Feels, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResaPeesa/pseuds/ResaPeesa
Summary: Prince Regent, Scholar, Knight, and a precious liability...brothers Seph, Younghyun, Mark, and Jisung navigate life as the monarchy of their forefathers threatens to collapse under the strain of political sabotage, foreign offense, and ancient mysteries that should never have been overlooked.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Birthright (working title)

Papers. So many papers. Mark waded his way through the upper corridors of the Maeum Tower carefully, stepping over piles of books, sheaves of parchment, and delicately balanced compasses, globes, scales, and other instruments he’d never seen the likes of before. Strange, how the great hall of the scholars got more and more haphazardly tended the further you ascended. Perhaps this was indicative of the mind of the intellectual; the higher your education, the broader your knowledge, the less adept you were at caring for yourself and the space in which you lived. 

This was precisely why Mark carried a basket in his gloved hand, packed with bread, cheese, and dried meats. He had even tucked a small flask of mead under the cloth cover, though the headmasters of the Maeum were strict regarding consumption of alcohol within their stoic hall of learning. It was a risk he was willing to take; after all, Younghyun was notoriously forgetful when it came to proper nutrition, and alcohol had many benefits. 

At last, Mark rounded what felt like his thousandth corner, coming to the door of the western record-room, where he knew Younghyun was working today. Readjusting his grip on the thickly woven handle of the lunch basket, Mark rapped his knuckles on the aged oak door before letting himself in without having received a response. 

“H’lo, ‘Hyun,” he called, needing to shoulder his way into the room as the door got stopped up by a poorly placed stack of ledgers. 

“You’re early today.”

Mark furrowed his brow as he tried to find the owner of the voice, which was muffled by a barricade of shelves stacked with books and scrolls. Craning his neck, he finally located the source. With a grin, he picked his way over to the low table where his twin brother sat cross-legged on a thick cushion, poring over a tome nearly the width of his torso. 

“Am I early?” Mark asked quizzically, cocking his head at his brother as he placed the basket of food before him. 

Younghyun looked up at him with raised eyebrows, twisting his owl-feather quill in his ink-stained fingers. The sunlight that streamed through the stained-glass window cast dappled blue and green light onto his face, and Mark hoped that was the cause of his pale complexion. The deep creases beneath his dark eyes, however, implied otherwise. 

“Yes...you’re...very early aren’t you?”  
Younghyun’s brow creased, and Mark gestured with an open palm at the illuminated window. 

“What wing are you in today, ‘Hyun?”

For a comically long moment, the twins stared at one another, with Mark attempting to suppress a smile and Younghyun suddenly running through every calendar and schedule he could recall in his mind. At last, the scholar rested his chin in his palm and sighed heavily, closing his eyes in defeat.

“I’m in the western wing today, aren’t I?”

Mark smiled in mock pride, pushing aside some papers and sitting on the edge of the table. “That’s correct.”

“So that’s not the bright sun of mid-morning?” 

“Also correct. You’re doing quite well.”

Younghyun sighed again and rubbed his eyes vigorously with his palms. In a tiny instant, Mark’s smile threatened to fade as he passed his gaze over his brother, taking in his wrinkled scholar’s robes, unkempt hair, and hands that could not hide the raw blisters from too much writing, no matter how much the black ink tried to cover them up. 

“What are you doing that’s so important you’ve forgotten how time works, anyways?” Mark prompted, pushing the basket of food closer until it bumped Younghyun’s elbow. 

“Ugh…” Younghyun replied, dragging his hands down his face dramatically before taking the cloth off of the basket and peering at its contents. “It’s all grunt work...I’ve been pulled from my thesis study to help organize the population records before the census is undertaken next spring.”

“Next spring?” said Mark incredulously. “That’s nearly a year from now...you have to pause your thesis study for all that time? What takes so long?”

Younghyun pulled out a wedge of spiced cheese and eyed it hungrily. Without needing to be asked, Mark drew a small knife from his belt and handed it hilt first to his brother. 

“Ah, thank you,” Younghyun said eagerly, and he began to slice into the wedge with little regard to the surface of the table beneath the cloth he had spread out as a placemat. “It’s bound to take a year. We have to organize decades worth of records. We’re supposed to do one every ten years, but in that time between, who knows how many records and files are being pulled out and looked through for various reasons, and stuck back in the books in the completely wrong place? It may come as a surprise to you, but scholars can be quite careless.”

Unable to resist the opportunity, Mark leaned forward and plucked a bit of feather fluff out of Younghyun’s hair, no doubt left there from one of his battered quills.

“Yeah, I was beginning to catch onto that.”

Younghyun made a face in embarrassment, tearing off a chunk of bread and placing a slice of cheese atop it before stuffing it into his mouth. He hummed satisfactorily, already preparing another serving. Mark smiled proudly and sighed, glancing around the dusty room and wondering just how long his brother planned to be cooped up here. 

“How’s Jisung?” Younghyun asked thickly through his second mouthful. 

“He misses you. You haven’t been sticking to your promise of a six day schedule.”

Mark did not mean to berate his twin, but it could not be helped. The Maeum college was consuming his life, and his absence was deeply felt by their younger brother. They knew it was no fault of Younghyun’s--not entirely--, as he had been pushed into the academic pursuits by their father. Mark sometimes regretted his own natural affinity for combative arts, wondering if Younghyun may have been happier to be a soldier. What a stupid tradition to maintain, having any “extra” children be slotted into standard careers, believed to “balance” the family’s reputation. It was a tradition that could not be avoided, however. Especially for them.

After all, they were the sons of the King. 

Younghyun fished another roll out of the basket, and the flask of mead caught his eye. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as he drew it out. 

“You’re unbelievable. And also a blessing.”

Mark watched as Younghyun took a swig, resting his chin on his gloved fist. 

“Will you come home today?”

The scholar paused mid-drink, frowning at the ceiling. He swallowed another gulp of the sweet alcohol, setting the flask carefully on the table and flipping the lid closed with his thumb. His fingers traced the embossed design on the flask’s face; a playful fox twisting around the roots of a blossoming cherry tree. 

“There’s still...a lot to be done…”

Mark rolled his eyes. 

“You know, I could haul you out of here if I wanted to,” he said casually, stretching his arms above his head and feeling his back crack beneath his layers of tunics and light leather armor. 

“No you can’t,” Younghyun scoffed. “You’re too short.”

His words were instantly regretted as Mark sprang up from the table, lurching forward to grab Younghyun by the arms. The scholar cried out in protest, half laughing, half pleading, as Mark seized his wrists and pulled him over his shoulder. With a grunt, he heaved the taller boy over his shoulders like a lamb, and began to spin in circles with unsteady steps, coming dangerously close to knocking the inkwell off the table multiple times. 

“Stop it! Stop, alright, I take it back!” Younghyun begged. “Put me down!”

Mark ceased his spinning, teetering slightly and panting. 

“Say you’ll come home tonight, or I’ll throw you.”

“You’ll throw me sooner if my meal comes back up,” Younghyun said woozily, which was enough to convince Mark to set him down on his feet with remarkable speed. Placing his hands on his narrow hips, he narrowed his eyes at Younghyun sternly. 

“Come home.”

His voice softened, and Younghyun smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. 

“...alright.”

*****  
As the members of the Court filed out through the vast double doors, the royal scepter felt too cold and heavy in Prince Seph’s hands. He clenched it tightly, for fear that his unease would dampen his palms and cause it to slip from his grasp; not unlike the monarchy itself. 

Stepping up as regent at the King’s command had been a rushed decision that Seph had little part in. His father was growing old, and he sought a smooth transition to the new generation of rulers; his aging mind, however, clearly did not see the complications that would arise. Councils were uprooted from their set ways, alliances raised questions about the young prince’s ability to rule. The King had set his mind on a method of teaching that involved throwing his eldest son into the chaos of becoming a monarch and stepping away, forcing him to either learn to swim or be drowned. 

Seph held onto his scepter as if it were the only thing keeping his head above water. 

“Relax your grip, Your Majesty,” crooned a wizen voice. “White knuckles bespeak incompetence.”

Biting his lip to keep his temper at bay, Seph shifted his gaze to the last member of the Court to remain in the hall. He was an old man, impossibly old, it seemed, with a long white beard that nearly tucked into his heavily gilded belt. The stoop of his shoulders was so severe even the intricately embroidered sleeves of his robes dragged on the ground. Governor Hyunsuk was the longest standing member of the Royal Council, despite standing on legs that should have failed years ago. Ever he had clung to the King’s side, promising friendship and sound advice, as he did now to the young regent. 

Prince Seph, however, did not welcome his aid, and did not deign to respond to the ancient governor’s suggestion.

“I noticed,” the governor pressed on, shuffling closer to the steps that led up to the raised platform on which Seph was seated, “That you still mark documents with your old ring. It’s been nearly three months since you gave up ‘Taehyung’ in favor of your second name. Perhaps it would aid your...credibility...to present yourself fully under your monarchical identity.”

The prince shifted uncomfortably in his low chair, twisting the ring in question on his finger. Yes, he had adopted his second name as his reigning name; such was the custom of all the kings throughout their history. Truthfully, it was not strange for him to be called ‘Seph’. After all, his youngest brother had been using it in place of his first name since he could first speak, after ‘Taehyung’ had proved too difficult for him to pronounce. 

Still, to remove his identity as Taehyung entirely...that would seal the reality of his new place as regent, and further as King. This was still too unsettling a concept. 

“Your majesty?” wheezed the governor, beginning to shakily ascend the marble steps.

Seph rose quickly, holding his scepter across his chest. The governor hesitated, recognizing the signal to pause and allow the pseudo-monarch to speak freely. 

“The new seal-ring is still being created,” Seph said cooly. “It is not something I would have been so careless to overlook. Now...please excuse me.”

The prince turned his back on the governor, cursing his polite tone in his mind. As if privy to the prince’s very thoughts, Hyunsuk smirked. A true king would not bother with formalities when it came to taking his leave. 

Seph threw back the translucent curtain that hung behind the low throne, leading to a door that opened to a partially uncovered walkway from the council chamber to another wing of the palace. The sun beamed through the intricate latticework, casting angular shadows upon him as he swiftly walked, trying to breathe steadily through his frustration and embarrassment. 

Haggard bastard, he thought bitterly. How can father not see that he’s biding his time to manipulate the nobility against me at the first sign of weakness?

He wasn’t ready. 

“Seph!”

The prince regent flinched in surprise, turning to see a small figure climbing through a gap in the lattice walls. Tousled brown hair was complimented by a deep blue tunic that cast an even greater contrast on the bright smile that beamed out of the boy’s face. Seph felt his shoulders relax instinctively at the appearance of his youngest brother, and he quirked an eyebrow at him in mock disappointment. 

“And what nefarious purpose did you have lurking there, little brother?”

Jisung successfully fit himself through the tight space, hopping slightly as the heel of his boot caught on an uneven piece of wood. 

“I was definitely not eavesdropping on your fancy meeting, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said cheekily, dusting a few splinters off of his pant leg. “I don’t know why anyone would. They’re so dull.”

“If you weren’t eavesdropping how do you know it was dull?” Seph scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Jisung scoffed indignantly, folding his own arms and shifting his weight to one leg so that he perfectly mirrored Seph’s posture. 

“A bunch of old men in robes file in, lugging scrolls of complaints and policies, and you don’t come out until ages later, with a look on your face like you’ve just eaten a stale fish. That, to me, suggests a certain level of dullness.”

Seph chewed his cheek to try and quell his smile, with little success. Jisung’s bright face broke into a grin, and he pounced forward, seizing his elder brother by the forearm. 

“Are you done with official things now? Can we go riding?”

Jisung’s doe-eyes demanded Seph’s attention, and he sighed through his nose.  
“We won’t have much time if we’re to get back in time for our evening meal with father,” he warned, though Jisung did not seem fazed, shaking his arm vigorously.

“I don’t mind!” he said giddly. “Even if it’s just a quick lap around the grounds...I want to show you something!”

Seph smiled warmly at Jisung’s enthusiasm, and pried his hands off of his arm with some difficulty. 

“Let me change,” he said, tugging at the sleeves of his traditional robes. 

Jisung nodded fervently, clenching his fists in determination. 

“I’ll meet you at the stables!”

Seph could barely respond before Jisung was already on his way, half jogging, half skipping down the walkway until he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Seph watched the place where he had gone for a moment longer, grateful for the warmth he felt in his heart. Despite the eight years between them, as well as extremely different expectations for their lives, Jisung had always ensured that the bond between them was strong. It was his innocent affection that helped give Seph stability in his own family; with his mother gone, the sole responsibility of carrying on the monarchy fell on his shoulders. His younger brothers were only half-brothers to him, sons of the second queen, and would never bear the birthright that weighed so heavily on Seph’s heart. He wondered often if they ever resented him. 

The prince regent shook his head, escaping his thoughts. It would be best not to keep eager Jisung waiting too long, unless he should burst with impatience. 

A short while later, once he had swapped the heavy chancellor robes in favor of a jerkin and trousers, Seph found Jisung at the gate to the stables, practically vibrating with excitement. He took Seph by the arm instantly, dragging him toward the grand stalls that stood separate from the others to house the mounts of the royal family. 

“What’s got you so eager?” Seph asked, at a loss as Jisung pulled him so hard he nearly stumbled. 

“I made you something!” Jisung exclaimed, finally arriving before the stall of Seph’s regal stallion. Reaching over the gate, Jisung retrieved a bridle from a hook on the wall. He handed it to his elder brother, smiling expectantly. “Notice?”

Seph took the soft leather in his hands, holding it up to inspect it closely. It had been etched with vines and flowers, and even tiny birds, all along cheekpieces. He let out a quiet “ooh” in amazement, turning it over every which way to take in every detail. Impressed, he turned his eyes to Jisung, who was grinning proudly. 

“You made this? It’s beautiful.”

“I did,” Jisung beamed. 

“When did you learn how to do this?” Seph inquired, unlatching the stall gate and beginning to fit his horse for riding. 

Jisung shrugged. 

“A few weeks ago, I think. I asked the royal tanner about it, and whenever I could I went and learned from him.”

“Father was alright with you spending your time learning a trade?” Seph said, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know if he noticed.”

Seph hesitated as he adjusted the straps of his saddle, hearing the uncharacteristically soft tone of Jisung’s voice. He parted his lips to offer some sort of reassurance, but before he could Jisung had already gone off to retrieve his own mount. 

“Besides,” called the young prince from out of sight, his voice light as if nothing had happened. “It’s less of a trade and more of an art.”

Seph smiled, already leading his steed out onto the cobblestone path. Turning his head to the warmth of the sun and squinting at its light, he breathed deeply as a warm breeze passed through the courtyard. It felt good to escape the dark confines of the interior palace, which felt more and more like a prison with every passing day. Seph swung himself up into his saddle skillfully, reaching forward and patting the side of his horse’s shining neck. A moment later, Jisung appeared, riding his swift painted mare. The mounts befitted the princes; one experienced, steady, and stubborn, the other energetic, loyal, and excitable. The two brothers prodded their steeds onwards, accelerating to a gentle trot as they drew away from the stables and approached the gates of the inner wall. 

“Where to?” Seph called over his shoulder. 

Jisung pouted thoughtfully. 

“The Arbor?”

A good choice. To show his approval, Seph kicked his mount into a canter, causing Jisung to cry out indignantly as he fell behind. The inner gate was opened for them, and they emerged into the outer ring of the palace grounds. There were fewer buildings here, but it was more densely populated with guards, making navigation slightly hazardous. They passed more than a few uniformed figures, who bowed respectfully even as the princes ran through, paying their surroundings little heed. Seph spurred his horse onwards with increasing speed, and he heard Jisung’s bright laugh behind him as they galloped toward their destination. 

The Arbor was a humble name for such a grand structure. Skirting the furthest reaches of the outer palace’s area, it rose up before them now; a towering framework of polished lignum vitae beams that intertwined to support an acre of an overflowing canopy of vines and tendrils. Thick-trunked trees broke through the frame in the center, providing additional support and protection for smaller, more delicate plants that flourished on the soft ground below. A vague path had been worn into the grass from generations of royalty and caretakers alike who had built the exquisite wild garden up to what it was now. The princes’ horses were familiar with it, and followed it instinctively. 

Soon, Jisung’s quick-footed mare overtook Seph, and he gleefully rode deep into the enclosure, his rich blue tunic flashing amid their dense green surroundings. Seph followed closely, deftly navigating the path as it grew narrower and less defined as they approached the center. He caught up with Jisung faster than he expected, causing the younger prince to groan in frustration, slouching in his saddle. 

“I barely had a chance to get ahead!” he complained, adjusting his grip on the reins as his horse pranced with uncertainty in the face of a tangle of tree roots that had grown so gnarled it obstructed the pathway. Seph’s own mount also balked, which struck both the princes as rather odd; it wasn’t as if the natural barrier was too tall for a simple jump. 

They both looked upwards in awe, taking in the splendor of the oldest trees in the Arbor. Most of them had broken through the beams of the structure centuries ago, and their pale trunks were smooth, standing as wide as the compass-towers of the palace. A grin spread across Jisung’s face as his bright eyes danced across the sight. 

“I’ll never tire of seeing these,” he said sincerely. “They must grow with magic.”

Seph hummed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps they did, long ago.”

Jisung frowned, turning his gaze. 

“Perhaps they do.”

Seph smiled resignedly, swinging down from his saddle and loosely tethering his horse to one of the lower branches of a tree that was not quite so old as the others. Jisung followed suit, and began to pick his way over the roots to get closer to the base of the giant trunks. 

“I don’t know how you can believe what they say,” Jisung pursued, carefully finding his footing and stretching his lanky arms out for balance. “How can something like magic just disappear?”

The older prince sighed, following his brother’s footsteps. 

“History speaks of magic like a field of crops. With no one to tend it, it becomes overrun with weeds and vermin. Eventually, it will die. No one remembers how to practice magic anymore; the fieldhands are gone and the ground is infertile.” 

Seph instinctively reached out and caught Jisung’s arm just before he slipped off the side of a mossy log. So agile and quick, and yet so unaware at times. Jisung scarcely seemed to notice, and he walked steadily for a few steps before Seph let go. 

“When was the last time anyone tended these trees that grow in the middle of the Arbor? Nothing seems infertile or dead here.”

The argument was to be expected. Jisung had always loved the idea of magic, and tried to find it in every aspect of his life. He loved to debate for it, to defend it. Seph wondered how long it had been since his own disillusionment, when he learned how traditions had faded and knowledge was lost, until the human kingdoms of this world had let all magic slip away until it was nothing but a book, a legend, a fresco on a city wall. 

He looked up into the canopy as they reached the true center, the first tree that was called Hanarut, that had been planted by an ancient king in the wake of a great battle, to declare this land a place of life once more. It was unfathomably tall, striped with moss of many shades of green and blue, speckled with creeping tendrils of new growth and orange and yellow fungi that traveled up its trunk like sparks leaving a bonfire. Its leaves were as big as a man’s head, pointed and silky, and they fluttered slightly. The air here seemed...dense...but not still, or difficult to breathe in any way. A warm breeze was ever present here, coming and going with a faint rhythm that almost became the breaths of the trees themselves. Seph had to admit, it did feel like magic. But how could it be, now, a century or more since ignorance had fallen upon mankind? 

Seph’s gaze flickered over to Jisung, who had come to a stop at the base of Hanarut, staring up at it. His slender hands were pressed into the bark of its trunk, sinking slightly into the soft layers of moss that coated it. His head cocked to the side, and Seph’s memories were struck by how little Jisung had changed since his early childhood. 

“Seph...does Hanarut bear fruit?” Jisung called, still looking up into the canopy. 

“Not for many years, if it ever did. The scholars say it would produce in the elder days, but only in the years when--”

“Then what is that?” Jisung interrupted, pointing. 

Seph blinked, slightly offended that his offer of knowledge was so quickly discarded. Stepping up to his brother, he shaded his eyes, trying to follow his indication. Unfortunately, the sun managed to burst through the dense leaves in precisely the least convenient spot, and he winced. 

“I don’t see anything...at all, actually,” Seph said, hanging his head and covering his eyes with his palms as the bright light left spectres dancing in his vision. 

“I’m going to try and get it!”

The excited, mischievous tone in Jisung’s voice was like a blazing red flag. Seph reached out, trying to grasp the collar of Jisung’s shirt blindly, still covering his burning eyes with one hand. 

“No, no no no no no, please do not--”

“I’m good at this!” 

Jisung’s argumentative voice was already sounding far away, and Seph’s anxiety rose. Rubbing his eyelids furiously, he forced himself to look up through a watery view, searching for the younger prince. Jisung was already a third of the way up the Hanarut’s trunk, wrapping his arms into vines like grappling ropes and pushing off of thick shelves of fungus with his feet. 

“Jisung, get down!” Seph scolded, trying to reach up to pull him to safety. 

Jisung made a face from his position, pausing just out of the reach of Seph’s hands. 

“You’ve been spending too much time in that stuffy council room; you’ve forgotten that I am one of, if not the best, tree climbers in this kingdom. You should remember that, if you’re to rule!”

Had he not feared for Jisung’s safety--both due to the height as well as an underlying superstition that even his own skeptic mind could not shake--Seph would have laughed at his brother’s sass. However, he felt nothing but helplessness and worry as he watched him scale the ancient giant with incredible agility, until he had reached the first layer of branches nearly thirty feet from the ground.  
“Jisung!”

“It’s not that much farther!” Jisung shouted down, walking confidently on a massive limb as wide as a tower walkway. 

Seph stepped closer, craning his neck to try and keep eyes on Jisung, who kept disappearing further into the aerial thicket. 

“Jisung, please! Don’t go any further, you’re too high!”

“I’ve almost got it, I’ll come right back down!” 

Jisung teetered on the edge of a branch, holding onto a clump of leaves with one hand and reaching toward the strange yellow fruit with the other. He was so close...if only his arms could reach a little further…

Below, Seph pressed his hands into Hanarut’s trunk, the plush moss giving way more and more, as if the great tree was considering swallowing him whole. He paid it little heed, however, twisting his aching neck and begging any magic or god or both to inspire Jisung to come down. 

“It’s just a bit too...far…” Jisung muttered to himself, straining and standing on tiptoe on the edge of the branch. The cluster of pointed leaves lent their last bit of elasticity as he clung to them, stretching until his arms felt like they could burst from their sockets. The fruit was bulbous, almost hourglass in shape, and it bore both ridges as well as indentations that alternated in a strange symmetry. Just one more millimeter, and he would be able to identify its texture as well. He barely managed to brush it with the tip of his middle finger.

There was a deep groan as the branch swayed and bent suddenly, throwing Jisung off balance, and the Arbor rang with a dense crack as the end of it splintered in two. 

“JISUNG!”

The young prince fell backwards, staring up at the fistful of leaves that he had torn loose. Watching them, gently drifting down as he plummeted. The air rushed through his ears, but his surroundings seemed to pass by slowly, and he tried to turn in the air, desperate to call out to his brother but unable to find any power in his clenched lungs. In a moment, he would reach impact. Would he break bones? Would he never walk again? Could he...die?

Terror clawing at his heart, Seph scrambled to where Jisung was headed, hoping he would get there in time to catch him. However, Hanarut betrayed him, and he caught his foot on one of its massive roots and fell forward, scraping the palms of his hands to break his fall until they bled.  
Jisung twisted, and saw the ground fast approaching. Screwing his eyes shut, he held his hands out, despite knowing they would do nothing to save him. 

The rush of the wind in his ears halted. 

Seph stared, mouth agape, as his brother hovered six feet above the ground. Jisung opened his eyes, hesitating for a heartbeat, unable to comprehend what was happening. Then, with a yelp, he flinched his arms inwards, and he crashed to the ground, landing hard on his side on a gnarled root and gasping in pain. 

As Seph clambered over the mess of roots and sprouts and fungus to reach Jisung, Hanarut pulsed gently deep beneath its mossy cloak.


End file.
